


A Different Kind of War

by merisunshine36



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/F, Star Trek: AOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Chapel has the perfect relationship with Number One. Laid back, no strings, simple. Until Number One decides to starts trying to provide career advice, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The door to her apartment hisses shut and Christine takes a moment to let her mind decompress in the beautiful sound of silence. For the first time that day there would be no more angry family members or bitchy doctors trying to bend protocol to suit their needs, only the sound of her own breathing punctuated by the occasional bed-rocking creak from the tenants upstairs. She begins to liberate the thousand-odd pins required to keep the small jungle on top of her head out of her eyes, and makes a face at the stale smell of hair still damp from her shower this morning.

Her clunky nurse shoes are the next thing to come off, and she groans aloud at the sudden pain that accompanies the rush of blood to the area. Sensible footwear or no, being on your feet for the better part of twelve hours means they're gonna hurt like a bitch come closing time.

When Christine glances up to find her vision obscured by an expanse of long, pale leg ending abruptly at a pair of frayed blue running shorts, she nearly falls over in shock.

"Goddamnit, One." She continues to let loose a string of colorful invectives while her heart returns to normal speed. "I thought we agreed that the apartment wasn't a good place to practice stealth tracking." Christine moves to squeeze past her down the narrow hall, but is halted by One's hand on her upper arm. Her fingernails are the dangerous red of an emergency klaxon, piercing and bright. Christine never bothers with her own--there isn't a nail lacquer in the known universe that will stand up to the sanitizers in your average hospital.

"I was waiting for you," is all she says, her expression smooth and calm as a lake on a windless day. "I was being a good girl and sitting on my hands all this time instead of showing up at SFM and dragging you home like I wanted to."

Number One keeps right on her heels as Christine makes a beeline for the little couch in their sitting room. At one point, she thought that nothing would make her happier than seeing that couch be "accidentally" recycled. A hand-me-down from the previous residents, it's built from a shabby recycled material the color of granite and about as pleasant to sit on. But she'd somehow made friends with its sad coloring and contrary angles over the years. And with Christine about to graduate in a few months and One on the verge of shipping out again, there was even a little part of her that knew she'd miss it.

"You waited, hunh. Definitely an improvement over the time you went back into the kitchen at that restaurant last week to pick up our orders yourself."

In need of a convenient pillow to soothe the aches and pains of her already battered body, she drags One down onto the couch and sprawls out on top of her, winding their legs together until she's warm and comfortable with her nose tucked into the crook of One's neck. It's possible that some (or a lot of) her hair is in One's nose, but what's love without a little suffering?

Her suspicions are confirmed when she feels One carefully shifting her hair to a location that doesn't interfere with her breathing before attempting to speak. "Rumor has it that as long as your exam results are good, they're likely to offer you a posting on the _Enterprise_. It would be in your best interests to take it; she's a superior vessel."

If there's anything One is bad at, it's casual disinterest. She never says or does anything without intent, something that is painfully obvious right now. Christine looks for some clue as to how she should react in the dark corners of Number One's gaze. She comes up with nothing.

"That wasn't what we agreed on, One. You'll be in the Laurentian system--we'd never see each other."

"What we _agreed_ was that you'd take the best opportunity available to you." Christine imagines that this is the tone Number One uses on wayward ensigns under her command. "That used to be my ship, but now something better has come up. You're still young; I won't let you sabotage your career."

Not for the first time, she wonders if there's some grain of truth in the rumors that Commander One is secretly a Vulcan. They'd spent weeks discussing how she'd would head out on the _Yorktown_ first, with Christine to follow as soon as she graduated. She'd never tell One, but she's even entertained a number of foolish daydreams that involved the two of them having horribly cliché sex on the viewing deck of a starship while the universe rotates around them. And now those dreams are evaporating right in front of her eyes.

"So. Just like that, you're willing to throw away everything we've worked for?" Christine sits up angrily and pokes an accusing finger at One's chest. She sounds whiny and she knows it but hell, right now she _feels_ whiny. Number One is the only steady thing she's got right now.

Instead of answering, One takes possession of Christine's hand and folds it into her own. The skin is pink and a little chapped, and there are a series of angry half-moons from where each of her nails had bitten into her palm. She smooths the pad of her thumb across Christine's heart line, and the careful tenderness there triggers a lightning flash of guilt.

"Think of it, Christine." Her voice is so earnest that it's almost painful to hear. "The flagship. The best of the best. After one rotation on the _Enterprise_ , you could go anywhere you wanted."

Christine groans aloud. With the significant age difference between them, she often suspects that One looks at her as a chance to make up for past mistakes. The Academy gossip mill has plenty to say about how she passed up a shot at her own vessel in favor of staying on as XO with a captain she was devoted to. When he was reassigned to Earth, the admiralty had made it clear that Number One wouldn't be going with him, which knocked all of her plans wildly off-course.

Two hands slide into position at the pressure points on the base of Christine's skull and begin steadily massaging away the tension that's gathered at the back of her neck. When One adds a few penitent kisses into the mix, Christine can only hold out for a moment before she arches into her touch, sighing.

"Mmm, that's good. You'll have to teach me how to do that someday."

A fall of black hair tumbles over One's shoulder as she tilts her head thoughtfully. "I could teach you right now. There's this lovely room in the back of the apartment, it's got a bed and everything."

"If you think you can get out of a serious conversation about our relationship with unsubtle sexual overtures, you....would be right. And who says we even need a bed?"

Christine hopes to get a laugh in response, but all she gets is a single raised eyebrow. Well. You can't win 'em all.

"I wasn't going to tell you at first," Number One confesses.

"Tell me what?"

"That I've been shoehorning your name into every conversation I've had with Captain Pike over the past three months."

Even in Starfleet, the myth of meritocracy is only valid until you're in competition with someone's daughter or fuck buddy or old comrade in arms. But still, Christine was born in a country that hasn't quite given up its hold on the bootstraps myth, and the thought that she couldn't get onto the _Enterprise_ under her own steam stings. "You did _what_?"

It's the first time she's ever seen One look bewildered--pale cheeks flushed, brow slightly furrowed. It's a good look on her.

"It seemed...appropriate at the time. I thought you would appreciate it as a romantic gesture."

Only Number One would consider getting her lover a job that would separate them for months at a time a suitable declaration of one's affections.

"We're going to have to work on your definition of romance. I'm sure this Pike character is a great captain, but I'd much rather put myself in your capable hands," Christine says with a salacious wag of her eyebrows. "And just for the record, if my ship is ever in trouble, I fully expect you to show up in the Yorktown with guns blazing, ready to rescue my ass."

"Guns blazing?" The corner of Number One's mouth quirks up in a close approximation of a smile. "I think I can handle that."


	2. X Inefficiencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number One finds the way Christine studies to be oddly sexy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the Star Trek femslash commentficathon.

Number One will never confess this aloud, but one of her favorite activities is to watch Christine study. Despite having dragged her most recent round of forms that need signing into their living room, Christine has proved herself to be enough of a distraction that One is getting absolutely nothing done.

It's the middle of finals in her first year of med school and Christine is determined to succeed in all of them, crushing them beneath her with her innate intellect, and when that doesn't work, by sheer force of will. When studying her whole body is focused; those long legs of hers curled pretzel-like in her chair while she huddles over the desk that she's colonized with a number of padds, old paper books, and a few models of internal organs belonging to a species Number One can't put a name to.

The edges of One's mouth soften at the slightly puzzled look on Christine's face--despite a preference for recording her thoughts longhand, her notes are usually unintelligible. Her handwriting is a free-flowing scrawl that has more in common with Vulcan script than any alphabet the Greeks ever came up with. The point of the stylus makes a faint tapping noise as she plays with it against the edge of her teeth, and the lines of her face are softened by the ashe blonde curl that's escaped from the messy bun atop her head.

Number One envies her ability to become completely lost in something to the exclusion of all else. Her own brain functions like a machine, always busy with a thousand different tasks ranked according to priority and the amount of attention necessary for completion. Only Christine can lend her that sense of single-minded focus, keeping all of the white noise in her brain at bay with a touch of those skilled hands, her generous mouth, and the intense gaze of those lovely, soft eyes.

In a moment of sudden self-awareness, she looks up and catches Number One staring at her.

"What is it?" she asks, the stylus dangling from her fingers.

One taps the screen of her PADD to bring it back to life; it had gone dormant a long time ago for want of attention.

"Nothing in particular," One responds. "It's just you."


End file.
